


Trittico 1:  Tempered Steel

by AnthemGlass



Series: Starshot: A Space Opera [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, M/M, Multiple Storylines, Slow Build, Star Trek-ish, some always-a-girl!characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnthemGlass/pseuds/AnthemGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sid pulls at his black uniform trimmed with gold, a silver eagle clutching an arrow on his breast.  He is the youngest Captain Icarus Fleet has ever had – so he has the most to prove of any before him. Sidney Crosby intends to do so and more.</p>
<p>Captain Crosby leads the USS Nelson and its crew on its maiden voyage to a mining outpost on the edge of the galaxy that has lost communication with Earth.  What they find there is more horrifying than anybody had speculated and it will lead him and his crew on a journey across universe and pit them against the most evil villains from the darkest corners of space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trittico 1:  Tempered Steel

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story in what I hope to be a series of stories (I’m all nerdy and have the whole thing planned out). It’s not explicitly a Star Trek AU because I’m not versed enough in that world to be able to write a story. Instead I formed my own that I think is a bit simpler. Also as far as the series goes, I plan to use every team in one facet or another, they’re different races, villains, heroes, neutral, political, violent, and even PIRATES. That’s a little clearer after you read. Happy reading!
> 
> Quick and dirty guide to ranks:
> 
> SENIOR ADMIRAL RANKS (The guys at headquarters)  
> \- Fleet Admiral (FADM)  
> \- Commandant (COM)  
> \- Admiral Chief of Icarus Operations (ADM)  
> \- Vice Admiral (VADM)  
> SHIP RANKS (The guys that run the ships from the ships)  
> \- Captain (CAPT)  
> \- Commander (CDR)  
> \- Lieutenant Commander (LCDR)  
> \- Lieutenant (LT)  
> \- Lieutenant Junior Grade (LTJG)  
> \- Ensign (ENS)  
> \- Warrant Officer (WO)  
> ENLISTED RANKS (The other guys on the ships)  
> \- Master Chief (MC)  
> \- Senior Petty Officer (SPO)  
> \- Chief Petty Officer (CPO)  
> \- Petty Officer 1st Class (PO1)  
> \- Petty Officer 2nd Class (PO2)  
> \- Recruit (REC)
> 
> Quick and dirty guide to the positions on the ships (different than ranks though relative)
> 
> SENIOR OFFICERS (The guys that run the ship)  
> \- Captain  
> \- Chief Officer (Alternate Captain 1)  
> \- 2nd Officer (Alternate Captain 2)  
> \- 3rd Officer (Night shift captain/Alternate Captain 3)  
> \- Chief Communications Officer  
> \- Chief Medical Officer  
> ENGINEERING (The guys that run the ship mechanics and teleportation system)  
> \- Chief Engineer (also senior officer)  
> \- 2nd Engineer  
> \- Helmsman (drives the ship)  
> STEWARD (Cooks and comfort)  
> \- Chief Steward  
> \- Chief Cook  
> STAFF (Enlisted members)  
> \- Medical Staff  
> \- Communications Staff  
> \- Engineering Staff  
> \- Crew  
> \- Infantry

__

__

_Earth 2217_

The bottle of wine smashing into the hull of the ship feels like a bit much, Sid thinks as he stands at attention, eyes focused on his newly christened battleship.  But these traditions and rituals are everything in the military, Sid’s not going to cause any more trouble than his new position has already stirred.

Sid moves his eyes from the black behemoth of a battleship to his Chief Officer Evgeni Malkin.  Malkin looks disgusted, practically glaring at him, at least as much as someone at attention with his eyes forward can glare.  Brooks Orpik, his 2nd Officer is no different.

Sid ignores the pointed stares and looks back at his ship.  The USS Nelson stands proud amid the dark red sunrise.  United Earth Icarus Fleet Admiral Bettman finishes his remarks on the proud future of the fourth battleship of its kind in the Icarus Fleet to thunderous applause from a crowd of men and women who’d traveled from every corner of the globe to witness the maiden voyage. 

The next few moments pass in a blur, Sid shakes hands with Bettman and the other top officers of Icarus Fleet.  Vice Admiral Bylsma lengthens their handshake with a few congratulatory words.  It’s well known that Bylsma was the strongest proponent for the decision to make Sid the Captain of the vessel, despite his young age.

Malkin and Orpik begrudgingly shake Sid’s hands without so much as a “congrats” or “good luck” which only perpetuates Sid’s sinking feeling that his deck mates will be difficult to work with.  His 3rd Officer, Christy Kunitz, is bright-eyed and congratulatory.  Sid smiles a bit, at least she’s supportive.

“Don’t worry about those fuckers,” Christy smirks.  “Once they iron out their bunched up panties they’ll come around.”

“Thanks,” Sid manages to maintain captainly composure at her remarks.  This is the first time they’ve spoken, but he’s heard about Kunitz’s mouth and the trouble it has gotten her in.  So far he’s a fan.

The rest of the ceremony goes off without a hitch.  Helmsman Iginla, all smiles, steers the ship into Earth’s atmosphere and then into the black and shimmering expanse of space. 

Sid pulls at his black uniform trimmed with gold, a silver eagle clutching an arrow on his breast.  He is the youngest Captain Icarus Fleet has ever had – so he has the most to prove of any before him. Sidney Crosby intends to do so and more.

In a time of relative peace, other planets could interpret a new battleship as an act of aggression.  However Icarus Fleet is far from the greatest power in the universe.  The fleet is still fledgling and unseasoned with younger and younger soldiers at the helms of ships.  They are not seen as aggressors, instead they provide aid in the event of natural disasters and at times have been called upon as allies in battles to preserve peace.

The maiden voyage of the USS Nelson is to provide aid to a mining outpost on the edge of the galaxy that has lost contact with Earth.  The ship is carrying Fleet members as well as a platoon of IF Marine Corps soldiers in the unlikely case that the mining outpost has been invaded.

“You know what’s always bugged me?”  Christy smirks as she types on her control board.  “Why the fuck would we name our fleet after Icarus?  I mean isn’t that just like asking for us to fail?”

Sid laughs at the old joke.  He’s heard it since he enlisted at the age of fourteen.  There was a story there, but he’d never heard it.

“Just like they’re asking us to fail with Crosby,” Orpik whispers to Malkin who chuckles at the jab. 

“That’s Captain Crosby,” Sid inserts.  Orpik’s shocked gaze shoots towards Sid, he obviously thought he’d been quieter. 

“Yes sir,” Orpik amends.  While Orpik seems frightened by the prospect of being caught, Malkin stares back intent on outmanning his captain.  He is obviously not afraid of Sid or any possible repercussions.  Sid – to a degree – respects that.

“Yes sir,” Malkin finally grunts as Sid steps away from his head officers. 

“Scutum-Centaurus Alpha 5 in three minutes,” Iginla announces not looking up from the map of their trajectory.

Sid presses his fingers on his communicator located on the underside of his left wrist.  “Chief Medical Officer Dupuis, Chief Engineer Letang, and Chief Officer Malkin,” Sid looks at Malkin, the only of the three present on the bridge.  “The four of us will teleport on to the mining outpost with a small contingent of Marines.  Commander Letang, you will evaluate the structure and any damage that may’ve caused communication failure.  Lieutenant Commander Dupuis, you will provide medical support for any miners or in the unlikely event of an accident or altercation, you’ll provide medical support for the marines and us.  Major Staal, you copy?”

“Copy, understood,” Eric Staal grunts.  Marines are men of few words.

Iginla brings the ship out of hyper-drive.  “Oh God!”  He chokes out.

Sid steps up to the massive windshield of the ship, staring at the mining outpost that has just come into view.  It’s nearly destroyed.  Pieces of what used to be the mining colony float by the battleship as Iginla eases them closer.  Bodies can be seen floating in space. 

“Lieutenant Neal,” Sid barks.  Neal perks at his name.  He’s the Chief Communications Officer for the USS Nelson. 

“Yes sir?” 

“Any close range communication?”  Sid asks trying to disguise the horror in his voice.

Lt. Neal presses on the display in front of him, speaking all major call signs in three different languages in a desperate and frantic manner.  He sighs at the resulting silence, his body folding on itself a bit.

“No response, sir,” Neal mumbles.

There is enough left of the outpost to allow them to teleport into the cargo bay and investigate.  Sid presses on his communicator again, “Teleport in one minute.  Major Staal, be ready for combat maneuvers.” 

Major Staal barks orders to seven men who’ve organized themselves on the teleportation pad before turning to Sid and the other USS Nelson officers.  “Myself and that crew will go in first.  We will send an all clear signal when we’re ready for you four.”

Sid doesn’t like being commanded, but he and Staal share a similar rank in their respective branches.  Sid is, however higher in the chain of command than Staal.

Staal looks at his group of men, before pulling his facemask down in case the air supply is uninhabitable.  CPO Pauline Martin teleports the eight men on to the outpost on Staal’s signal.  The men illuminate in a bright white light before disappearing suddenly with an electric _pop_.

“Chief Petty Officer Martin,” Sid orders.  “Go ahead and teleport us now.”

“Sir?”  Martin replies, unsure of whose orders she should be following.

“What?”  Malkin gapes.

“We’re not waiting.  We can handle confrontation, am I right?”  Sid challenges.

“Yes sir!”  Letang and Dupuis parrot. 

Malkin grits his teeth, “Yes sir.”

Sid chuckles pulling down his mask.  “You’re going to grind your teeth into nothing if you don’t fix this attitude.”

“My teeth fine,” Malkin replies.

“Arms at the ready,” Sid orders.  All four officers grab at their weapons and hold them in firing position, ready for anything.

“Teleport,” Sid barks and in a second the engineering bay disappears in a flash of light.  It is immediately replaced with a dark, cold room, run down with age and crumbling from recent battles.

In the hall outside the bay they’ve teleported into is flashes of light and the crack of gunfire.  Sid can hear Staal yelling orders. 

Sid is the first to leap from through the doorway, his gun instantly aimed at the foreign figures.  He stutters for the briefest moment.  Their attackers are unlike anything Sid has ever seen.  They look to be robots, covered in aged metal, rusted and scraped, but entirely functional.  They have long tendrils, like dreadlocks, hanging where their hair would be.  The one in Sid’s aim lays a hard kick into Maj. Staal’s chest, sending him flying against the wall.  The robot unsheathes a metallic sword and raises it to behead Maj. Staal.

Sid fires with supreme accuracy.  Two energy bursts, one at the chest and the second at the head.  Bright bulbs of light pierce through the robotic armor and the threatening attacker falls, dead. 

Maj. Staal peers back for a second at his savior and looks annoyed at the Icarus Officers before returning to battle.  Apart from the one attacking Maj. Staal, the Marines had these attackers under control.  Seven bodies lie motionless on the cold ground of the outpost engineering hall. 

“You were supposed to wait for my signal,” Maj. Staal grumbled as one of the Privates advanced down the hall and Dupuis attends to the two injured Marines. 

“Yeah, and you’d be without a head if we had,” Sid replied, annoyed by his own smug attitude. 

“Sir,” the Private who’d continued down the hall announces his return.

“Skinner?”

“About twenty or so of these things,” Pvt. Skinner says kicking one of the bodies.  “They’re loading minerals and equipment into a ship in the outpost bay.  They’re trying to get away.”

Maj. Staal takes command and the team, with their years of tactical training, floods the docking bay.  The robots fire in return, though many are ill equipped and it is apparent that this will be no difficulty for the platoon. 

Sid activates a small camera on his weapon.  He films the robots as he fires a few shots.  Just then a shout erupts from Sid’s right.  He turns just in time to see Malkin go down. 

“Malkin!”  Sid yells, diving across the cold floor and crawling up to Malkin who is writhing with his hand clenched hard around his bicep.  “Let me see!”  Sid commands freeing Malkin’s arm from his grip. 

A thick barb is lodged in his bicep.  Four small, silver dots surround the barb, which Sid now understands are the tips of the hooks now stuck inside Malkin’s arm.

“Dupuis!”  Sid calls out.

“I’m fine,” Malkin tries to sound brave but the pain seems immense.  The blood is pouring down his arm and the skin not covered in blood has turned an angry, burning red color as it fights the presence of this foreign object.

“I need to get them back to the sick bay to remove them!”  Dupuis responds, attending to a young Marine who’s been hit by the same barb.

Dupuis pulls the young Marine out of the outpost bay and into the hallway still scattered with bodies of their previous attackers.  Sid soon follows, luckily Malkin is able to help move himself out of the battle.

“TELEPORT!”  Sid shouts into his communicator.  A clap of white sounds and the four of them disappear.

When they reappear Sid finds that Pauline has already ordered medical personnel to be ready upon return.  Two floating gurneys with a pair of medics each wiz out of the room with Malkin and the marine.

Sid has to catch his breath.  He’d seen battle, he’d seen death, he’d seen aliens.... but he’d never seen those.

Maj. Staal barks another set of orders.  Letang watches in horror as two marines execute the final robot. 

“What did you do that for?”  Letang shouts.  “We could have used them for information!”

Maj. Staal shrugs, “Probably can’t even talk.  They’re just robots.”

Letang looks at his feet.  Blood is pooling around his boots.  He leans down beside the freshly killed body of one of the “robots” to get a closer look.  The blood is seeping from the armor.  Letang as an engineer has very little difficulty in finding the switch behind the head that releases the mechanical armor to reveal a young, pale face, eyes shut and forever asleep.

“Shit,” Maj. Staal breathes, his shock betraying his attempt at an emotionless stoicism.

“Fuck.  He’s just a kid,” Letang curses. 

The face could not be older than eighteen.  The young expression downturned in a small frown.  Letang traces his hand on the light skin of the cheek.  It’s still warm.

“Let’s look for any miners,” Letang says reverently.  Maj. Staal nods silently and the platoon splits to search.

Lt. Neal jumps at the crackle of static before Letang’s voice becomes clear.  “...No survivors.”

Neal dips his head in silent reverence for the lost souls.

“Total invasions from humanoid species with...” Letang’s voice sounds like he’s thinking about it.  “...Aged yet incredible technology.”

“Copy,” Neal responds, though he’s unsure of what Letang means.  “Any surviving invaders?”

“No,” Letang responds curtly.  “Maj. Staal and I are finishing up recon with the platoon.  We’ll teleport back in half an hour.  Letang out.”

Just as Letang ends the transmission, the deck entryway opens and Capt. Crosby enters.

“What happened?”  Commander Orpik demands. 

Crosby ignores Orpik and heads straight of Neal’s com link.  He nearly pushes Neal out of his seat while he angrily types in code to hail someone on earth.  On the small video screen a strange face appears.

“Sid?”  The man sounds shocked to be seeing the newly appointed Captain.

“Dan,” Crosby sighs.  “I’m sending you video feed of some robots.  Can you tell me about their origin?”

Dan watches the video recorded from Sid’s mask, grumbling and commenting to himself.  He rewinds the quick link and watches for a second and third time before responding.

“Well Sid,” Dan sighs.  “Those are not robots.  They’re living organisms.  What you’re seeing there is armor.”

“What?”  Sid is astonished.

“Maybe not human, but obviously for a humanoid body.  These guys seem to specialize in hand-to-hand combat,” Dan watches the video again as he continues to list his observations.  “Definitely human.  Old models of whatever it is.  They did not expect to come across any real difficult opponents.  I can’t imagine why they’d take on soldiers like you all.  Especially considering your firepower.”

Sid swats away Dan’s comments, listening only to the important observations.  “I’ll have recon send you more footage to analyze.”

“Okie dokie,” Dan smiles and the line goes dead.  Crosby shakes his head exhaustedly.

“Is he a civilian, sir?”  Lt. Neal asks before he’s realized what he’s said.

Capt. Crosby gives him a dark and piercing stare.  “He’s the best at what he does.  I don’t care if he’s from another fucking world.  He’ll tell us what I just faced in there.”

Orpik gives a disgusted look from his station on the deck but decides not to follow Neal’s question with further interrogation.

After the debriefing with Maj. Staal and follow-up information for Dan, Sid only has more questions.  They were in fact humans inside those suits.  Apart from what Letang and Dan could figure Sid knows nothing about the men they’d just massacred. 

Sid lets his head fall heavily on his desk.  His quiet office and bedchamber on the ship is not his favorite place.  He prefers being with the crew on the deck, but the office provides him an escape and a chance to gather his thoughts.  With the stunt he’d pulled defying Maj. Staal he’s basically begging for an uprising among his leading officers.

A chime announces someone at his door of his chambers.  “Come in,” Sid barks.

“Captain,” Ensign Fleury smiles that bright, stunning set of teeth.  He’s the Chief Steward of the USS Nelson.  He manages food and living arrangements.  Many joke that the Chief Steward gets less sleep than the Captain and Sid doesn’t doubt it.  He has a tray of food in his hands that he places on Sid’s desk.  “Must eat or you’ll fall apart!”

“Thank you Ens. Fleury,” Sid sighs.  Fleury’s French-Canadian accent reminds Sid of home, not just Earth, but Canada.

“Yes sir,” Fleury bows slightly before turning to leave.  “And may I say one thing sir?”

Sid nods silently.

“I think you’ll be an incredible Captain.  One of the greats,” Fleury’s smile is gone, replaced by serious thought.  “No doubt.”  Without a response from Sid, Fleury leaves the Captain’s Chambers, the sliding doors shutting quietly behind him.  It’s not an Ensign’s place to say anything like what Fleury just observed, but Sid can’t help but feel utterly relieved and shaken by Fleury’s admission.

Still floundering in speechlessness, Sid’s tablet lights up and chimes, alerting him of an incoming call.  The ID reads “Vice Admiral Bylsma”.

“Crosby,” Sid answers, having to clear his throat a bit after his exchange with Fleury.

“How’s it going Sid?”  VADM Bylsma asks.  He’s been Sid’s most treasured advisor and confidant since he was sixteen, when the Icarus Fleet realized his young and considerable talent.  Having an ally so high in the ranks had been integral in his rise to Captain.  As such, their exchanges were more conversational than appropriate.

“Doing good,” Sid says, hoping for a modicum of confidence.

“Admiral Bettman has suggested the Nelson stay at the outpost and continue the investigation,” Bylsma explains.  “Captain Toews and the USS Glazunov are currently engaged in the Auron System and the USS Saariaho and USS Zwilich are on peacekeeping missions.”

“Yes sir.”

“So we’d like you to stay put.  Have Maj. Staal lead an investigation with Lt. Neal and Dr. Dupuis,” Bylsma continues.  “All findings should be sent _directly_ back to Fleet Headquarters.”

Sid swallows.  Bylsma knows about Sid’s civilian contact on Earth.  He’s warning him against using him, or at the very least, warning him not to get caught.

“Yes sir.”

Geno’s eyes shoot open and he silently intakes a sharp breath.  The room is dark and cool.  He sits up and removes the gauze bandaging on his arm.  The rapidly healing wound looks far better than before.  Dupuis is a genius and Geno would have to buy him a drink.

He throws his body around and places his bare feet against the cold metal of the medical bay floor.  He finds his shoes and uniform at the end of his bed, cleaned and folded nicely.  He pulls on the black, tight clothing and presses his hand on the gold trimming.  It’d taken him so long to get to where he is.  He’s proud of what he’s accomplished.  His finger toys with the silver, seven-pointed leaf on his breast before shaking the fondness of his new position away.  His communicator indicates that it’s nearly two in the morning. 

He walks out of medical bay to find something productive as he can already tell he’s far too awake to sleep.  On his way to the deck to meet with the night crew and Lieutenant Commander Kunitz (as third officer she had the woeful job of night duty) he passes Capt. Crosby’s quarters.  The sliver of light below the sliding doors indicates that a light is on and Crosby is awake.  Geno sighs and ready’s himself to be as polite as possible.  He’ll never advance in rank to captain a ship if he doesn’t get a good review from his commanding officer.

He knocks softly on the door, but hears nothing.  He presses his hand into the sensor to the right of the door and they slide open silently.  Only high up officers and the Chief Steward have individual access to the Captain’s Quarters.  Though the Captain can revoke even those at any time.  Inside is an undecorated office that’s borderline sterile apart from a rosewood desk in the center that holds Crosby’s tablet and other various electronic equipment.  Also on the desk is Crosby’s head as he’s seemingly fallen asleep mid investigation.  His body is bent at an odd angle that make’s Geno’s back cry in sympathetic pain. 

He debates whether or not it is appropriate to awaken the captain, but the short moment passes as Crosby shoots up, instantly awake, as if his senses had registered someone in his presence.

“Commander Malkin,” Crosby says quickly, masking the sleepiness in his voice with speed.  “What is it?  How are you feeling?”

“I am good,” Geno replies.  His struggles with the English language were the first issue he had in his initial training and rise in ranks.  He’d been raised in a Russian township that valued Russian culture over Earth’s universal English language.  “All better.”

“Good,” Sid replies obviously confused as to what Geno is doing in his room.

“Uhh, good yes,” Geno stutters.  “I awake.  Can do work.”

“Good.  Well uh,” Crosby gets his bearings.  “See if Lieutenant Commander Kunitz has anything she needs.  We’re staying here and investigating the scene until we get further word from Icarus Fleet.”

“Yes sir,” Geno says respectfully for the first time.  He heads out of the room quickly, embarrassed by his own strange behavior.  What the fuck was that?

Master Sergeant Jordan Staal opens his eyes reluctantly.  Three AM comes too early every morning.  He sits up straight, rubbing his muscles to help waken them faster.  He’s wearing only standard issue, tan boxers as the barracks get warm at night.  The rest of the platoon is still asleep.  They’ll be up in an hour for the morning Physical Training regimen that Lance Corporal Semin runs. 

Jordan pads into the communal bathroom with a small black bag of toiletries and his white towel.  All non-marine personnel on the ship share quarters and a bathroom with one other person, only the Marines have a barracks system with a communal bathroom.  He leans on the counter for a moment before washing his mouth out and brushing his teeth.   He slips the boxers off and steps into the shower, welcoming the warm water waking him from his sleep dazed routine.  He allows himself an extra minute in the shower, rinsing the soap from his body, his hands rubbing down the hard muscles, perfected from years of training and PT with the Marines.

He grabs his towel, dries himself, and wraps it around his waist as he heads back to the barracks.  In the hall he hears something in the darkness a few feet away from him, just out of eyesight.  No one is up at this hour other than the night crew and Jordan.  The night crew has never been in or around the barracks at this hour.  There’s no reason for anybody to be around this part of the ship.

Jordan unfreezes and takes a deep breath.  It’s probably his sleep-laden mind playing tricks.  However just as he takes a few steps towards the bathroom he hears it again.  The distinct click of metal boots against the ships walkway. 

Jordan takes a few steps towards the darkness, straining his gaze to inspect closer.  He sticks his neck out as he pushes his face towards the darkness. 

Then suddenly, from the lightless cloud a robot, like the ones they’d fought before, lunges out at him and begins to kick wildly.  Jordan’s heart rate spikes though his mind stays cool and collected as he calls upon years of combat training.  He counters the first six initial jabs from the robot, standard exploratory moves in hand-to-hand combat.

Jordan ignores his towel falling to the floor as he continues to battle, taking the initiative from the robot’s failed first attempt at subduing Jordan.  He places a well-aimed kick against the robot’s chest, sending him clattering against the wall.  He quickly picks himself back up and counters with a hard punch that connects with Jordan’s cheek.  Jordan shakes the pain away as he fights back.

Jordan manages to get three solid hits on the robot before tackling him to the ground.  Two marines have come out of the barracks, naked but armed.  Their weapons trained on the robot, trapped on the ground by Jordan’s tough grip.

“Don’t shoot!”  Jordan orders.  They’ll know more with this one alive.

“Yes sir,” Private Skinner acknowledges. 

The robot understands that he is trapped and accepts his fate of surrender. 

“Who are you?”  Christy commands as she walks into the holding cell. 

“Ensign Matt Cooke,” the burly man replies immediately.  “Interrogation and brig supervisor.”

“Good,” she replies.  “Don’t do anything until Captain Crosby has seen him.”  She gestures to the robot they’ve strung up against the far side of the metal cage.

“Yes ma’am,” Cooke responds though a small blush creeps on his face betraying the fact that he’d already started some sort of interrogation.

As if on cue Command Malkin returns with Captain Crosby.  Also with them is Lt. Letang, who of the entire crew is the only person to know anything about these things.

“Sir!”  Cooke snaps to attention.

“At ease,” Crosby commands.  “Let me in.”

Cooke releases the cell’s locking mechanism allowing Crosby and Letang to enter the cell.  Letang steps up to the side of the robot.  The robot’s head turns to watch Letang before facing back at Crosby.  His three metallic dreadlocks swing with each movement.  Letang presses the release function and the facemask disappears followed by the entire helmet collapsing in on the collar of the suit of armor. 

Crosby holds in a gasp of shock.  The young human staring back at him does not seem like the bloodthirsty savage they’d imagined inside the armor.  His blonde hair is bright and his skin is pale and young.  He looks to be eighteen or nineteen at the most. 

“Who are you?”  Crosby asks.

Silence.  The captive just stares at the ground intently.

“Where are you from?”  Crosby tries again, though he knows he won’t be getting anything from their prisoner the easy way.

Silence.

“Why did you attack Scutum-Centaurus Alpha 5 Mining Outpost 213?”

Again, nothing.

Crosby transitions to a harsh whisper, though everyone can still hear him.  “If you don’t start talking, that man over there,” Crosby gestures to Ens. Cooke, “will work you until you beg for us to listen to the information you know.”

Crosby can see the flash of panic at the threat, though the young man keeps silent, stoic but fearful.

“144 Miner’s dead.  Work him until he talks,” Crosby says storming out of the brig. 

Christy watches as Letang and Malkin follow him out, shocked expressions at the new side of their Captain they’d never seen.  Christy was just as shocked.  Who knew Captain Crosby had a scary side quite so ruthless?

Ens. Cooke looks nearly ecstatic at the order.  She steps up to Cooke and whispers in his ear.  “Don’t fucking kill him.  We need him alive.  We cannot have a dead prisoner on our maiden voyage.”

“Yes ma’am,” Ens. Cooke replies, though Christy is not sure she got through to him.

She looks back at the young man.  He’s in for a world of hurt.  Why wouldn’t he just talk now?

“Oh come on!”  Jordan smacks his fist onto the metal tray causing Eric’s dinner to go flying.  “Why the fuck can’t I go to the outpost.”

“You’re recovering from this morning,” Eric says blandly, ignoring his brother’s outburst.

“Bull fucking shit,” Jordan sneers.

Eric shrugs. 

“They are _my_ men,” Jordan adds.  “This is MY platoon.”

“As an officer in the IF Marines I reserve the right to take charge of a platoon in the event I believe that my leadership is to the benefit of the platoon.”

“Don’t cite regulation to me,” Jordan growls.

“Listen Jordan,” Eric says standing from the bench.  “I am your brother, but I am an officer.  It is my job to make sure everything runs perfectly.  You’re a good soldier, but your decision-making skills leave something to be desired.  I want to make sure that your platoon doesn’t get in another shitstorm of trouble that I have to cover up... again.  I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the past.”

“Fuck you,” Jordan manages before storming out.

“Report?”  Sid says without looking up from the display on his desk.

“Dupuis confirm prisoner is human.  Letang is work on armor to see what it is,” Malkin reports.  “Orpik and Lieutenant Junior Grade Martin are on mining outpost with Maj. Staal and Marines collecting more information.”

“Good,” Sid sighs.  Just as he is about to dismiss Malkin, VA Bylsma calls.  “Crosby.”

“Have you found anything?”  Bylsma asks.

“We are currently performing a thorough search of the outpost.”

“Good.  Let us know what you find,” Bylsma directs before ending the call abruptly. 

“You not tell about prisoner?”  Malkin asks.

“No,” Sid shakes his head.  “No need, not yet.”

A strange silence falls between the two as Sid continues to work.  A moment later he lifts his head.  “You can go,” he says a bit annoyed.

Malkin nods and leaves the room.  As he does Sid brings up the actual work he’d been viewing before Malkin had entered.  It’s a detailed analysis from Dan Potash, his civilian advisor that Bylsma had warned him from contacting.  Potash, while still confused by the information, pictures, and descriptions, seemed to be making headway on the origin of their prisoner.

“Hey,” Jordan purred sweetly.  The terrified petty officer, shaking while he held the tray of food for the prisoner.  “Are you supposed to feed the prisoner?”

The petty officer nodded glumly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jordan comforted.  “I can take it from here.”

The petty officer has a moment of suspicion, but the fear of facing the prisoner wins out and he quickly hands over the tray of food and nearly sprints from the door to the brig.

Jordan raps on the door.  Ens. Cooke opens the door wearing only the pants half of his uniform.  He’s sweating from whatever interrogation procedures he’s been practicing on the prisoner for the past thirty hours.

“Hey,” Cooke smiles that sly, angry smile.  “Here to relieve me?”

Jordan nods silently.

“Great.  I’ll be back in an hour,” Cooke replies grabbing a t-shirt and a towel and wiping his forehead.

Jordan pushes the swinging door open.  The large, metal door is one of the few swinging doors on the ship.  The mechanical locking mechanism is more fail-proof than the typical sliding doors.  Jordan steps into the empty brig, only the distant sounds of panting filling the room.

Jordan nearly gasps.  The prisoner is completely unlike what he’d encountered the day before.  The young man is suspended from the ceiling, his wrists an angry red and wrapped in metal shackles holding them in an uncomfortable position.  The shackles are attached to a metal chain hanging from the top of the cell wall.  He’s been stripped of his armor leaving him in a pair of the Icarus Fleet regulation white boxer-briefs

His body is covered in a sheen of sweat and combined with the exhausted state of his body it’s clear the young man is nearly broken.  His head is dangling in front of him, his eyes almost entirely closed.

Jordan feels a sinking feeling in his chest, something completely foreign to him.  The sight of such a vulnerable man compared to the thing that attacked him the morning prior.  Jordan opens the cell and steps in with the tray of food.  He places it on a metal table to the left of the prisoner.

The prisoner perks a bit at the sight before allowing his head to sink again.  Jordan crabs the paper cup of water and presses his fingers lightly on the chin of the prisoner, tilting his head back to allow a bit of water to pour in.  The prisoner gulps greedily at the water resulting in wet coughing as he chokes on the liquid.

Jordan pulls at the dinner roll, releasing a small, manageable piece and holds it to the prisoner’s mouth.  Weakly the prisoner accepts the bite of food and a plume of red shame flushes in his cheeks.

Jordan swallows the foreign sinking feeling, choosing instead to focus on the plan at hand.  If he can get information on the prisoner before his brother, perhaps he’ll be able to prove himself enough to free himself from the favor his brother paid him the year prior.

“What’s your name?”

Silence.  Jordan puts the roll down and a truly shameful whimper at the prospect of loosing the food he’d just been teased with escapes the prisoner’s lips.

“Name,” Jordan demands softly.

The prisoner huffs in frustration but does not say anything.

There is a knock at the door.  Likely Ens. Cooke back for more. 

“One minute!”  Jordan calls out before turning to the prisoner.  In a hushed whisper he says, “Don’t worry.  I will be back.”  The prisoner groans as Jordan spills the water on the ground and throws the remaining food down the garbage chute on the wall.

Jordan opens the door tapping out with Ens. Cooke, traces of regret and sadness for the poor young man invading Jordan’s better senses.  As Jordan leaves he hears Ens. Cooke snarl, “You ready for some more, Sunshine?”

Sid is speaking with Commander Malkin on the deck.  They have schematics of the mining outpost pulled up on a holo-projector and they are discussing different scenarios when Lt. Neal informs them that Lt. Letang is trying to contact them.

“Crosby,” Sid says into the communicator. 

“Captain,” Letang says.  “You’re going to want to see this.”

Sid grimaces before pressing the holo-projector to broadcast Letang’s filming equipment.  “Is their ship,” Malkin comments as the picture comes into focus.

“Yes,” Letang says.  “The outside is strange, overworked and modified.  But we finally got inside...”

“And?”  Sid says, impatient.

“And look,” Letang says pulling himself through the man-sized hole they’ve drilled into the ship.

Sid and Malkin can’t hide their shock, Lt. Neal gasps.  “It’s... It’s an Icarus Fleet vessel!”

“No doubt,” Letang clarifies.  “It’s a slightly older model transport and cargo ship.  I’m sending you the ID number of the ship.  Hopefully it’ll tell us how they got their hands on it.”

Lt. Neal takes down the info as Sid and Malkin continue to watch the video-feed Letang is broadcasting. 

“It must be stolen,” Malkin suggests.

“Pirates?”  Sid adds giving Malkin a knowing glance.  Twelve years ago Malkin had been best friends with the man who now is considered a king among pirates.  It’s not Malkin’s fault, but it is a blemish on his record nonetheless.  Malkin grimaces but holds his tongue.

“No.  It’s not missing,” Lt. Neal interrupts.  “According to this the cargo ship is currently in use under Icarus Fleet command.”

“Whose command?”  Sid exclaims.

Lt. Neal swallows nervously, “Yours sir.”

Jordan steals away in the dark of night.  The barracks are silent apart from his bare feet softly padding as he steps out into the hall and heads down to the brig.  He’s in PT gear minus shoes, had he worn them, surely members of his platoon would’ve awoken. 

Jordan has his bag hiked up on his shoulder.  It contains the meal Petty Officer Vokoun provided him for dinner.  Jordan feigned eating, instead choosing to save a majority of the food for the prisoner.  He knew that Cooke had the prisoner on essentials only, meaning one small meal a day (if that).  And Jordan had tossed his meal for the day down the garbage chute.

“Private Skinner,” Jordan breathes in surprise as he walks into the brig.  He’d expected the prisoner to be guarded, obviously, but for whatever reason it seems his older brother had ordered the platoon to handle the night watches.

“Master Sergeant!”  Skinner snaps to attention. 

“I’ll take this watch,” Jordan tries to play off that he knows the Marines are to watch the prisoner.

“Sir?”  Skinner is rightfully confused.

“That’s an order,” Jordan presses more insistently.

“Yes sir,” Skinner says as he quickly leaves the brig.  However his eyes catch Jordan’s shoeless feet and just as the large metal door shuts, he sees Skinner’s eyebrow shoot up in a final questioning glance.

Jordan turns to the prisoner, deciding that it could be now or never for him to get the information he needs.  Private Skinner could tell Eric that he’d been wrongfully relieved from his duty.

“Jesus,” Jordan curses as he gets a look at the prisoner.  Half a day with Cooke since Jordan had seen the prisoner has shown considerable damage.  The prisoner dangles, his arms pulled higher than before, his body shimmering with sweat, and his chest and back littered with small bruises.  Cooke is dangerous, the Fleet knows that, but chooses to allow his presence in return for the results he’s capable of getting, no matter how questionable the methods.

“Hey,” Jordan says lightly smacking the prisoner’s pronounced cheekbone.  The prisoner starts from an uncomfortable sleep in his slumped position.  “Water,” Jordan instructs allowing the prisoner smaller sips than before.

The prisoner whimpers in delight at the cool liquid.

“Do you understand English?”  Jordan decides starting questions basic and easy could help open the young man up.

The prisoner nods glumly.

“Good,” Jordan’s face lights with a small smile.  “That’s good.”

He pulls out some food from his bag and snaps a cracker in fourths and feeds the prisoner a small piece.

“What is your name?”

The prisoner sighs, sad and defeated. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jordan comforts.  “I promise.”

“...Beau...” the prisoner manages.  His light voice is gravely and exhausted.

“Beau?”  Jordan tests the names on his lips.  “Okay!  Yeah, that’s good!”  Jordan gives Beau a drink of water followed by the last three pieces of the cracker.  Beau hungrily attacks the offered food and drink.  “How old are you Beau?”

“Nineteen.”

Jordan gives him another drink of water.  “Now, Beau, I have some tougher questions,” Jordan says holding out a dinner roll, more sustenance than the cracker.  “Are you human?”

Beau tilts his head up to look at Jordan for the first time.  He nods slowly.

“Are you from Earth?”

Beau has to look away, but Jordan hears a whispered, “yes.”

Jordan swallows anger that has welled up inside him.  Humans from Earth killing their own kind – it’s disgusting.  But he has to sell his caring façade a bit longer.  “Why did you kill those men and women on the mining outpost?”

Beau starts, his eyes lock with Jordan’s.  They’re wide with worry.  “I didn’t kill anyone!”  He says louder than anything Jordan’s heard before.  Beau folds in on himself as some internal damage cries against his outburst.  “I promise,” he sobs.

Jordan frowns and places a tentative hand on Beau’s shoulder.  It’s cold and shaking.  “Shh,” Jordan continues to soothe the young man.  “It’s okay.  I believe you.”  Shockingly Jordan realizes that he actually does believe him.  A harder warrior would’ve lasted through Cooke’s torture sessions much longer, but someone so young and inexperienced didn’t stand a chance.

“He said he’d kill her,” Beau continues.  “He said he’d kill my mom.”

“Who?”  Jordan presses.  He places his other hand on Beau’s other shoulder, gripping him tight.  “Who is going to kill her?”

“I don’t know his name,” Beau sobs.  “I swear.  I... he wore a mask during video conferences and his voice was... disguised.”

“Shh.  It’s going to be okay,” Jordan is shocked at his admission and soothing delivery. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?”  Jordan jumps back from Beau, letting go as if Beau’s skin has singed him.  Eric stands in the doorway to the brig watching the scene unfold, a disgusted expression on his face. 

“Eric,” Jordan tries to sound confident and confrontational.  Beau’s head slinks down, exhaustion and defeat taking over. 

“What the fuck,” Eric says more pointed and quiet, “is going on?”

“I...” Jordan starts.  Both Eric and Jordan’s communicators chirping an alarm interrupt him.

Captain Crosby’s voice states sternly, “Senior Officers to the bridge.”

Eric grimaces.  “We’re not done here.”

Private Skinner slinks back in, avoiding eye contact with Jordan while the Staals walk quickly to the bridge.

Sid turns to the sliding doors as Eric and Jordan, the last two senior officers aboard the ship convened.  Malkin, Orpik, Kunitz, and Sid stand stoically in their black uniforms as the video screen comes to life.  The two Staal brothers look out of place, Jordan is still shoeless and wearing standard grade PT gear while Eric is in BDUs. 

Admiral Chief of Icarus Operations Todd McLellan appears.  “Officers of the USS Nelson.  An hour ago Icarus Fleet Headquarters received a distress call from the USS Saariaho...”

Commander Orpik tenses suddenly, earning him a suspicious glance from Sid.

The video shifts to a significantly shakier image of an older woman Sid recognizes immediately.  Dressed in the same uniform, except teal and trimmed in silver, Joseffa Thornton, Captain of the USS Saariaho, nearly topples over as her ship shakes violently from some sort of trauma.  “We’re being attacked!  Significant damage to the ship!  No hyper-drive capabilities.”

The screen goes dark for a moment before McLellan reappears.  “The USS Saariaho is being attacked by an unknown number of Rogue Empire vessels.  The ship was performing a routine peacekeeping mission near the planet of Nagao.  No report on casualties.  With the USS Glazunov still tied up in the Auron System and the USS Zwilich mid-mission elsewhere, we are repositioning you to meet with the USS Saariaho near Nagao.  Any follow-up investigation on the mining outpost will be finished by a different Fleet ship.”

“Yes sir,” Sid answers.  “Understood.  We will be arriving at Nagao in...”

“Twenty minutes sir,” Iginla informs him.

“Twenty minutes.”

“God speed,” McLellan gestures before the screen goes blank.

Commander Orpik tenses before storming off the bridge, angrily shoving Jordan Staal out of his way.

“What is that?”  Sid turns to Malkin pointing in the direction Orpik left.

“You not know?”  Malkin is shocked.  “Captain Thornton is Brooks’s wife.”

The War Room is outfitted with a large holo-gram in the center, which the senior officers of the USS Nelson are standing around watching as Captain Crosby plays through different scenarios.  Commander Malkin is the primary combat officer on the ship and much of what is presented are his suggestions.

Lieutenant James Neal swallows nervously.  He’s never been in an honest to god battle before and the prospect makes his palms sweat.  However the primary cause for his nerves is that no one has addressed the fact that the non-stolen ship used by the invaders of the mining outpost had been cleared for use by the very captain currently leading them into battle.

James had intended to show the utmost respect for their young captain.  He’d understood the various worries about the age, but instead of fighting it, he’d decided to embrace the new.  Now, with everything that’s come to light, he can’t help but feel suspicious.  James can’t tell where Captain Crosby’s loyalties lie.

“Captain,” Iginla’s voice calls out on the War Room’s communication speaker.  “Arrival at Nagao in four minutes.”

Over one hundred years ago the crews of a large Icarus Fleet carrier and a battleship defected from Icarus Fleet command and disappeared.  Half a century later the ships reappeared with new command, passed down from the old crew.  The two ships had become a fleet after setting up a colony on an abandoned planet. 

This fleet, now recognized as the Rogue Empire has been the primary agitator in Icarus Fleet battles for the last fifty years.  The two worlds have never come to an understanding and to this day lives are lost in a battle started by leaders who’ve long since passed.

The USS Nelson claps into the space coming out of hyper-drive.  It’s placed just behind the USS Saariaho, which is badly damaged, but still managing to fire it’s weapons.   The Nelson, being a newer ship, is outfitted with better weaponry that should prove more effective than the Saariaho, a battleship more often used for peacekeeping missions.

It’s being attacked by three Rogue Empire Destroyers, smaller ships but still capable of significant damage.  One of the three ships has been rendered useless, nothing but a sad piece of metal floating in space.  The other two are firing upon the Saariaho, though with the appearance of the new ship, one destroy has begun to re-aim its efforts at the Nelson.

“Fire plasma bursts, full power!”  Sid shouts as the first couple of shots from the destroyer shake the battleship.  The shields hold steadily upon the destroyer’s first wave.

“Firing plasma bursts,” Commander Malkin parrots.  Large blue clusters of plasma energy shoot from the starboard side of the ship.  “Direct hit Captain.”

The destroyer retaliates with a stronger set of attack weaponry, however it’s already apparent that they are outnumbered and now with the presence of the USS Nelson, outgunned.  As the final wave of energy bursts from the attacking ship his the Nelson, the two functioning destroyers vanish into hyper-drive.

“Should we follow them Captain?”  Iginla asks.

“No,” Sid responds.  “Contact the USS Saariaho.”

The view screen lights up and a shaken, but healthy woman appears on the screen.  “Captain Crosby, thank you for the support.”

“Sure thing Captain Thornton,” Sid gives a small smile.  “Do you need assistance?”

“Our ship has been rendered nearly useless.  We can hardly move.  It will be a while before we are up and running,” Thornton explains.  “We could use an engineering team if you can spare it?”

Sid nods.  “We’ll stay put here while you work on repairs.  I’ll send over our primary engineering team with one of my senior officers to aid with any repairs.”  Sid looks over to Commander Orpik who has been looking at the screen with sad, fawning eyes as his wife explains their situation.  “Commander Orpik, would you lead the team over there.”

Orpik turns a shocked face to Sid, obviously surprised by Sid’s generosity.  Orpik is in no way necessary in the aid of the engineering team.  “Yes sir,” Orpik nods, his expression morphing into a grateful smile before he heads out to rally the engineering team.

Captain Thornton smiles at the exchange.  “Thank you Captain Crosby.”

“I’m happy to help,” Sid nods.  The view screen goes blank and Sid sits back in his chair.  Captain Thornton is the most senior Captain in the Fleet.  She’s one of the few women to have ever held the position and she’s known for some heroic showings in her thirty years with Icarus Fleet.  Sid feels honored to have been able to speak with her, much less aid in battle and repairs.

“Captain Crosby,” Jordan chases Crosby as he leaves the bridge.

“Yes Master Sergeant?”

Eric catches up to them but holds his tongue as Jordan begins to speak.  “I was able to get the prisoner to talk.”

“Oh?”

“Yes sir,” Jordan nods.  “I think I can get him to tell me more if you let me run the interrogations from now on.”

Crosby thinks for a moment, silently weighing his options.  “You have two days.  If you don’t have anything to show from that, Ensign Cooke will continue his tactics.”

“Thank you sir,” Jordan nods and Crosby turns to head back to his chambers.

“What are you doing?”  Eric snarls.

“I got him to talk,” Jordan returns.  “And it was better than beating the shit out of the poor kid.”

Eric’s face scrunches in anger before he manages, “Don’t get attached.”

“Come in,” Sid replies to the chime at the doors to his chamber.  He’s stripped off most of his uniform, leaving him in a white undershirt and the uniform pants.

Commander Malkin walks in apparently thrown by Sid’s state of undress.  He stands silently staring for a moment.

“Yes?”  Sid pulls Malkin out of his trance.

“I... I just wanted to say, is nice, good thing you did for Brooks,” Malkin finally manages.

“Thanks,” Sid smirks.  “Helps for morale.  Plus I figured it’d be nice to have at least one officer that actually likes me... other than Kunitz that is.”

“I do, like you, sir,” Malkin quickly responds.

“Yeah,” Sid scoffs.  “Face it, you and Orpik never wanted to work under me.  All three of us were up for this Captaincy and I got it.  You’ve got four years of service on me and Orpik has almost fifteen.  I know you guys hate me for it.”

Malkin’s eyes droop as he turns his gaze to the carpet in shame.  Sid pulls his undershirt over his head exposing a sculpted chest that’s never missed PT.

“As long as you continue performing admirably,” Sid continues.  “I don’t give a shit how you feel about me.  And you’ve done nothing but perform admirably these last few days.”

“Thank you sir,” Malkin says, his breath hitching as he looks up at Sid and see’s he’s shucked off his shirt.

“Construction on the USS Lachenmann will be complete sometime in the next year,” Sid mentions absently.  “I’m sure you’ll be in the consideration again.”

Malkin returns that compliment with a defeated expression before nodding with another, “Thank you sir.”

“For now, we’ll await orders from Fleet Headquarters while we help get the USS Saariaho in working order again,” Sid explains. 

“Yes Captain,” Malkin nods.

Sid waits for a moment, his thumbs in his waistband.  Malkin realizes he’s waiting for Malkin to leave so he can finish changing.  “Oh.  Sorry.  Yes, I go.”

Jordan presses his hand into the pad.  The doors chime as the pad flashes green.  Only the senior officers have access to this particular bedchamber.  Inside are a single bed and a table with a chair.  On the bed, dressed in grey sweats and a tee shirt and cowering in the corner of the room is Beau.

Jordan places a tray of food on the bed in front of Beau before grabbing the chair and flipping it backwards and straddling it in front of the young man.  With each of Jordan’s movements Beau flinches, as if at any moment Jordan might hit him.  It’s hard to believe that this is the guy that nearly kicked his naked ass the morning of his capture.

“Hi Beau,” Jordan says calmly.

Beau nods while sliding the tray towards him.

“You’re safe here,” Jordan continues.  “Ens. Cooke doesn’t have access.  Just me and the captain and a few officers.  I can only keep you here if you tell me more.”

“I can’t...”

Jordan scowls, “Okay.  I’m going to spell this out for you...  I’m going to ask you questions.  You are going to answer every single one of those questions.  If you don’t, Ens. Cooke will start to _actually_ torture you until you break.  And once you do break, which you will, you’ll tell us everything anyways.  I know you might think as Icarus Fleet we’re diplomatic and humane, but I assure you that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Jordan stands and kicks his chair over before grabbing Beau by his collar.  “Are you ready to talk?”

Beau nods silently, terror painted on his face.

“What can you tell me about it?”  Sid asks as he steps into Letang’s workroom, the Beau’s armor lying on the metal slab like a body in an autopsy.

“HOLY FUCK!”  Letang shouts dropping his tool and flipping around the face his captain.  He regains his composure, pulling at his uniform and clearing his throat, “Sorry Captain.  You startled me.”

Sid smirks, “Quite alright.  What can you tell me about the suit?”

“Well,” Letang grimaces turning back to the heap of metal.  “It’s old, like nearly fifty years old.  But... but it’s unlike any technology we’ve encountered.”

Sid nods, Potash’s final opinion had contained similar speculation.  “Could it be from...” Sid allowed the ridiculous idea to linger. 

Letang shrugs his shoulders, finishing Sid’s thought, “...The future?  I honestly don’t know.”

Sid steps up to take a closer look. 

“There is a button on the back of the neck that releases the helmet, retracting it and the tendrils into the suit’s back,” Letang points to the areas he’s speaking of.  Sid follows the details, soaking in as much as his non-engineering perspective can handle.  “The rest of the suit is controlled by small needles that hug the person’s spinal chord.  It seems the suit becomes a part of their anatomy while they where it.”

Sid runs a finger along one of the many needles arranged into long columns.

“To put this suit on would mean an excruciating amount of pain for the wearer,” Letang shutters.

“Perhaps Master Sergeant Staal will provide us with more answers?”  Sid speculates.  “If the prisoner cooperates, we can have him describe the suit.

Letang nods, “Yes sir.”

“Keep up the good work.”

“I’m on the ship,” Gerbe whispers into his communicator through the black mask pulled over his mouth.

A voice disguised by distortion growls back, “Get to the prisoner.  I want him silenced – I don’t care how you do it.”

Gerbe smirks, “Yes sir.”

“So let me get this straight,” Jordan rubs his forehead, exhausted.  He’s back to straddling the chair and he’s propped his head up on one arm.  “Some mysterious person kidnapped you when you were 10.  They held you captive for nine years, promising that if you ever tried to break out or defy them they’d kill your family.  Then you learned hand-to-hand combat after having a robotic suit grafted to your spinal chord.  Am I getting this?”

Beau nods silently.

“What about the mining outpost?”  Jordan asks, deciding that pushing forward could somehow make the story more believable. 

“We were sent to clean it out.  When we got there the place was destroyed.  Everyone was dead,” Beau informs him.  “I was the pilot and spent most of my time on the ship plotting coordinates.”

Jordan nods, ushering him to continue.

“We don’t know who did the killing, but it wasn’t us.  Shit, we didn’t have enough guns to kill 144 miners.  We couldn’t defend ourselves from you guys!”  Beau is frantically trying to defend himself.  “If you check the miner’s bodies you’ll see none of them have barbs in them.  We only had Barb Rifles with us.”

“On that note,” Jordan says incredulously.  “Where are you getting this futuristic technology?”

Beau shrugs.  “They made us put on the suits.  Didn’t tell us where they got them.  But I am the engineer for the ship.  So I learned how they work and fixed them all.”  Beau seemed to get excited at the prospect of talking about the suits.  “I think they’ll have an incredible impact on the world if we could implement them on United Earth.  The spinal chord of the suit fixed some of the most serious injuries I’ve ever seen.  It’s incredible technology.  If I can ever get back to Earth as a free man – I’ll use the technology for the advancement of medicine.”

Jordan returns Beau’s hopeful dream with a morose expression, it’s unlikely Beau will ever be a free man again.

Gerbe slithers around another empty corner.  The engineering bay is startlingly empty, most likely due to the fact that the majority of the ship’s engineers are aiding the USS Saariaho floating in space next to them.  Gerbe sneaks up to a computer, pulls a small insert drive from the black leather suit hugging tightly to his skin, and loads in the hacking code.  His eyes frantically search the results until he finds what he wants.  The room the prisoner is being held in.

Jordan nods off a bit as he leans his head back in the chair he’s positioned himself in.  He’d begun to feel uncomfortable watching Beau sleep in the bed next to him but Beau had nearly begged him not to leave.  It seemed the poor kid was terrified that without Jordan by his side, Cooke might return.  And for whatever reason foreign to Jordan, he obliged.

These pangs in his gut he’d been feeling for the prisoner were not as unknown to Jordan as he’d previously thought.  He remembered just over a year ago – the shitstorm his brother so frequently dangled over his head.

They were on a planet’s surface, rescuing a band of traders from a Rogue Empire hostile takeover.  Jordan fell hard and fast for a beautiful woman – Tylia Ennis.  She was blonde with gorgeous blue eyes that Jordan regularly would get lost in.  He’d secretly spend every night with her as they fled from the Rogue Empire.  However, one night, there was an attack, completely unforeseen by the platoon.  Lives had been lost.  In the fray Jordan saw the most terrifying sigh of all – Tylia walking up to a Rogue soldier and trading information before smirking and sneaking off.

Jordan scanned the IF database only to find that Tylia Ennis was one of the top known assassins in the Rogue Empire Sabre Assassin corps.  She was known to infiltrate unknowing military operations through trickery and seduction.  Jordan had walked right into her trap.  He’d thought they’d shared true love; even after he found out she was a spy/assassin.  He was convinced she’d come back to him.

It was Eric who forced Jordan to snap out of it.  He covered up the egregious misstep and helped nullify any records showing that Jordan had corresponded with her.  It was a sign of just how dedicated the Staals are to each other.  Jordan understands that, but the fact that Eric, being the older brother that he is, holds it above his head in everything they do, maddens Jordan to no end.

And now, Jordan finds himself feeling the same sinking and floating in his stomach, the kind that causes blissful nausea.  Except this time it’s for a young man.  Jordan is not a homophobe, nearly forty percent of the United Earth is gay – but even still, the Marines are very traditional and to some in the corps, a homosexual relationship is a mark of weakness.  A gay man can’t be a real man.

Jordan is ripped from his dark thoughts as Beau begins to thrash in bed, yelling incoherent phrases peppered with punctuations of “No!”

Jordan shakes Beau awake, “Beau!  Beau!  It’s just a dream!  Beau!”

Beau shoots awake trying to hit Jordan and free himself from the marine’s strong grip.

“Beau!  It’s okay,” Jordan sooths.  “It was just a dream.”

Beau huffs in frustration, shaking his head before staring up at Jordan.  The silence falling between them is taught with unspoken tension.  “Thanks,” Beau whispers.

Jordan looks at his hands, still grasping Beau, “Oh yeah.”  He clears his throat letting go of the young man.  However just as his hands disconnect, Beau makes the smallest whimper before grabbing at Jordan’s arm.  He pulls the taller man down on him and angrily presses his mouth into Jordan’s.  Jordan doesn’t think, he just feels their lips pressed together and he holds his eyes open, staring at Beau who is lost in the kiss.

Jordan opens his mouth and begins to probe Beau’s with his tongue.  Both make twin muffled sounds of hunger for more as Beau tries to pull Jordan on top of him.  Jordan thinks for a moment about how brave Beau is for trying something like this in his situation.  Then the situation becomes clear in his mind and he flies back. “No!”

Beau stares back in shock at the sudden change in behavior.  “No, ummm...” Jordan rubs the back of his buzzed hair.  “This can’t... that...”

Jordan turns to leave but Beau jumps up begging, “No!  I’m sorry, please don’t go!”

Jordan pauses.  “I’m not going anywhere.  I’ll be just outside your door.”

“Sir!”  Lt. Neal shouts jumping up from his spot at the communication screen.

Geno looks up suddenly.  Crosby is discussing the suit with Letang so Geno is providing the Captain’s presence.

“Someone just hacked into our mainframe!”

“What they access?”  Geno jumps up from his seat. 

“The information on the prisoner.”

Geno shouts an incoherent thought at Lt. Neal summing up to say that he has the bridge as Geno runs to inspect the break in.  He’s shouting into his communicator as he runs, “Captain, Master Sergeant, someone hack into data about prisoner.  Maybe coming your way!”

Geno reaches the prisoner before Crosby.  He finds Jordan knocked out on the ground, his body pulled towards the hand scanner.  Geno opens the doors just as the assassin has pulled out a blaster to shoot the prisoner, who is sitting with his eyes closed as though he’s accepted his fate.

Geno growls as he leaps at the man, causing the blaster to misfire and fall to the ground.  The assassin is nearly a foot smaller than Geno, but he has a significant amount of strength and agility. 

The two spar fiercely.  Geno manages to get the assassin in a submission hold.  He’s about to knock him out, before the assassin turns and kicks, sending Geno flying back.  Geno’s head hits the metal wall and he becomes dazed and unable to move. 

The assassin smirks, standing and cracking his neck.  He steps up to Geno just as Crosby appears in the doorway.  The assassin rears up and lands a hard kick on Geno’s back.  A sickening crack rings out in the stale silence of the room before Geno roars in pain, his eyes watering and he blacks out.

“MALKIN!”  Sid shouts before aiming his gun at the assassin.  The assassin smirks as he presses a button on his leather suit and disappears with a sudden pop.

Malkin is writhing on the ground, shaking and sweating with pain.  Sid runs up beside him.  “Malkin,” he begs.  “Geno.  Geno are you okay?”

Malkin stares up at him through watery eyes.  It’s the first time Sid has ever called him by his nickname.  He smiles lazily in Sid’s arm.  “I not feel anything.”

Sid returns a look of abject horror.  “Nothing?”

Malkin swallows.  “Nothing.”

“Oh god,” Sid holds Malkin carefully in his arms.  “Can you move your legs?”

“Yes,” Malkin says.  “Moving right?”

Sid stares at Malkin’s motionless legs.  “That’s great buddy,” Sid sooths. 

Malkin laughs.  “They not move.”  He blinks hard.  “Arms no move either.”

Jordan has awoken and stands, staring at the scene unfolding.  Beau watches the exchange before bolting for the open door.  Jordan catches him easily, “What are you doing?”

“I CAN SAVE HIM!”  Beau screams frantically.  “Take me to my suit!” 

Jordan looks over to Sid.  Sid nods frantically “Do it!”

Moments later Jordan returns with Beau, his suit, and Letang.  Beau presses a button on the suit.  It falls to pieces at his feet.  In his hands is the Spinal Attachment. 

“Jordan, Captain,” Beau orders.  “Carefully turn him on his stomach.”  After Malkin’s turned Beau motions for them to move away.  He matches the metal spinal chord to Makin’s.  “It’ll fit!”  He grabs the bottom of Malkin’s shirt and rips it open, revealing his bare back. 

“Dude,” Beau warns, “This is going to hurt.  I need you to stay as still as possible.  Do you understand?”

Malkin nods silently.

“Hold him down,” Beau whispers to Jordan and Sid.  Letang takes Malkin’s legs.  Beau positions the Spinal attachment on Malkin’s visible spine under his skin.  “One... two...” Beau takes a deep breath, “THREE!”

He presses a button on the top of the spine and the needles shoot out from the top and pierce Malkin’s skin and then invade his spine.  Inside they wrap metallic tendrils around his bone and muscle to fuse with the spine.  The process continues one by one down Malkin’s back.  He’s screaming is pain.  His screams become so loud that they eventually dwindle into exhausted, unintelligible gargles of pain.

Dr. Dupuis shows up with a floating gurney.  The men load Malkin face-first on the gurney and Dupuis zooms away followed by Sid and Letang.

“For the official record,” a faceless voice says amid a group of high-ranking officers.  “You are a member of Captain Sidney Crosby’s ship, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you witnessed him giving classified information to a civilian – one Dan Potash?”

“Yes sir.”

“And the team found evidence linking Captain Crosby to the attack on Scutum-Centaurus Alpha 5 Mining Outpost 213?”

Less sure the officer answers, “Yes sir.”

“That is all we need to know.  Thank you for your cooperation.  We will take it from here.”  The voice says as the transmission suddenly ends.

“My dear son,” Geno’s mother coos.  The sun is out.  Fall has enraptured Washington D.C. in beautiful colors of red, orange, and yellow.  “You look so handsome.”

Geno smiles, pulling and adjusting his gray Icarus Fleet uniform.  When he gets assigned to a ship, he’ll be assigned new colors.  But for now, young and ready to take on the universe, Geno beams in his gray tunic and pants as his mother pets his cheek.

“We had no doubt you’d do it,” his father comments.  It was the first time his parents had made it to Washington D.C.  Seemed fitting it’d be on his graduation day.

“Thank you, father,” Geno bows his head a bit, trying to maintain his proud smile from beaming too bright.

Denis, his brother, tries for some weird bro hug/shake that just turns out more awkward than anything, but they both laugh it off and Denis gives him a real hug.

“Zhenya...” his mother says through proud tears.  “You need to wake up now.”

Geno returns a confused look.  “What mother?”

She repeats in Russian, “You need to wake up now...”

Geno shoots awake.  “Ahh!”  He screams as pain flares all over his body.

“Commander Malkin!”  Dupuis says pressing softly on Geno’s shoulders, easing him onto the hospital bed, insisting he not move.  “Geno, are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Geno manages through the pain.

“I’m giving you some heavy pain killers,” Dupuis says as he injects Geno.  “But I’m not sure they’re going to do much.  You are going to be in pain regardless.”

Geno scoffs, “Bedside manner?  Lie to me doctor...”

Dupuis laughs, “Good, you’re being a smartass, so at least we know it’s you.”

Geno wants to ask why it wouldn’t be him, but the pain is too much and he closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” Jordan says sheepishly as he closes the door the Beau’s bedchamber prison.

“Don’t thank me,” Beau scoffs.  “He’s in for a lot of pain.”

“But you saved him.  He was paralyzed,” Jordan more asks than says.  Beau nods and takes a seat on the bed.

“You kissed back,” Beau says without prompt.

Jordan flushes bright red.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Beau smiles.

“No, I am.  That cannot happen.”

“I saved the Chief Officer,” Beau redirects the conversation.  “Am I still a prisoner?”

Jordan averts his eyes his embarrassment is answer enough.  Still a prisoner.

“Hey,” Sid says by Malkin’s bedside.  “How are you feeling?”

Malkin shrugs, but winces in pain at the movement.

“You saved him, the prisoner,” Sid says.

Malkin smiles, “Is good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing,” Sid assures him.  “And he... he saved you back.”

Malkin laughs at that, “Remind me to kill him if I ever can walk again.”

“Ha!  WHEN you walk you’ll have to thank him in person,” Sid corrects.

“Did I perform admirably?”  Malkin says, his serious tone taking over.

Sid stares, sadness painted on his face.  “Yes,” he breathes.  “Of course you did, Geno.”

Malkin smiles sleepily.  “I like when you call me ‘Geno’.”  He follows that with some mumbling that sounds like ‘I want to be your Chief Officer’ before Malkin falls asleep.

“Sleep on it, Geno,” Sid says leaning over and placing a soft kiss on the Commander’s forehead.  “You’ll always have a place on my ship.”

A week has passed.  Slowly but surely the USS Saariaho is returned to working order.  Once hyper-drive is operable the two ships return to United Earth in tandem, under Icarus Fleet orders.  They both land on the planet, as the Fleet wants to fix any damage either ship sustained in battle, though the damage to the USS Nelson is hardly noticeable, it’d be able to be fix in space.

“Commander Malkin,” Captain Crosby smiles as Malkin walks onto the bridge.  He’s wearing the uniform pants, but only wears a white t-shirt on top.  Beneath the shirt, juts out the metallic spine that will forever be fused to the man’s back.

Other officers on the bridge cheer and rag on him, it’s the first time he’s made it all the way there.  No one actually touches him, for fear of causing pain, but the camaraderie is there nonetheless.

Brooks smiles.  After spending a week with his wife, his entire body feels recharged.  They’d both known going into their relationship and latter marriage that they would have trouble seeing each other.  He could never expect her to give up her long-running position as Captain of the USS Saariaho and she surely would never ask him to give up his position in the fleet, though talk of transferring ships had arisen before.  Both felt uneasy about the idea, as both Brooks and Joseffa are sticklers for the rulebook.

“You look good,” Brooks says to Commander Malkin.

“You look ugly,” Malkin retorts and they both laugh.

As Malkin begins to talk with Lt. Neal and Lt. Commander Kunitz, Brooks walks over to Captain Crosby.  “Captain,” Brooks nods.

“Commander,” Captain Crosby returns.  The two stand in agreed, mutual respect.  Their maiden voyage was eventful.  It showed everyone’s willingness and perseverance as members of Icarus Fleet.  

Brooks feels confident in the future of the USS Nelson.  It feels bright and hopeful with their young Captain at the helm.

As the ship lands on Earth, four members of Icarus Fleet board the ship and head straight for the bridge.  Sid is laughing and congratulating his team on a job well done.  He’s happy that Malkin, Orpik, and Kunitz could all be present for the ship’s first return to planet.

“Quite a voyage.  I’m proud to serve with you all,” Sid says.

The crew cheers and laughs.  However everyone quiets as the four IF Military Police officers step onto the bridge.

“Sidney Crosby, Captain of the USS Nelson, you are under arrest for treason against Icarus Fleet and the United Earth,” one of the officers says as another attaches metal cuffs to Sid’s wrists and pulls his arms behind him.  “You will be detained in Washington D.C. until your court martial.”  A few people on the bridge start to shout at the officers.  Malkin stands angrily and steps forward too fast.  He doubles over in pain and Orpik catches him as the watch Sid led off the bridge.

One officer stays behind.  “Officer Malkin, you are Acting Captain of the USS Nelson.  An official captain will be assigned within the next few days as the repairs are completed on your ship.”

The officer turns without another word and the crew stares in stunned silence.

Orpik tenses as he places Malkin in the closest possible seat, which happens to be the Captain’s seat.

“We won’t stand for this,” Orpik says, finally breaking the silence.

“Crosby is our Captain,” Malkin orders, he’s answered by silent nods.  “If anybody says otherwise I will have you thrown off the ship.”  A few grin at the threat, but most hold stern faces of resolve.

Orpik nods last, “Then let’s get our Captain back.”

_To be continued..._


End file.
